


Severed Wings

by Angelwingsl3 (Marie_Fanwriter)



Series: Filling in the Blanks [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assisted Self Harm, City of Angels?, Drug Abuse, Episode 11, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, References to Religion, Season 3, Self-Harm, cannon gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter/pseuds/Angelwingsl3
Summary: Lucifer’s rebellious streak was legendary, biblical in its proportions. Despite that, he always gave in to his Father’s demands eventually-- until one day he didn’t.“What would you say if I told you we’re staying?”





	Severed Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by this [**scene**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBU23TXBQ4s) in season 3, episode 11 City of Angels?
> 
> Thank you, [**Some_Writer**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer) for the beta work!
> 
> Heed the tags, please! It's all canon but with a little more visceral reality.

\--

Amenadiel’s departure left the club silent save the gentle whoosh of the HVAC system and the occasional patter of water dribbling from a loose faucet behind the bar. For the first time in eons, Lucifer felt the weight lingering in his chest lessen. For the first time, he would not be ushered back to Hell by his siblings. 

He was free.

Leaning forward, Lucifer braced against the gaudy, gold railing overlooking the sunken centre of the bar. Already, he could see how much more this place could become if only given a chance. His gaze shifted up, taking in the thousands of incandescent bulbs in the ceiling. They were not unlike the billions of stars he’d brought into existence.

Lucifer: The Lightbringer.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Yes, this would do nicely. With the cage gone, there would be room for a dancefloor. The awful gold stylings would mellow with silver accents and black walls. Expensive liquor would adorn the shelves and music would fill the hall.

“This place could use a piano,” he said aloud, smiling to himself. People would come to hear him play. He- he would never be alone unless he wished to be. Lucifer’s hands tightened around the cheap glass tumbler in his hands. Freedom, however gratifying, came at a price.

The currency came in the form of blood.

Before he could think better of it, Lucifer tossed back the rest of the scotch. He pushed off the railing and headed for the bar where a second glass followed the first. By the time he knocked back the third, he had given up on the pretense and drank from the bottle. An angelic metabolism had a way of hindering drunkenness, and  _ Dad knows _ he needed to be drunk for what needed to come next.

“Mazikeen!” he shouted into the lingering quiet. The demon never strayed too far away, and he would need Maze’s assistance-- or at least her knives.

As expected, it took less than a minute for her to appear before him; just enough time for the devil to imbibe enough of the bottle that he needed to catch his breath when he’d finished. It clanked against the bar top, and the liquid inside sloshed against the sides of the glass without spilling.

“You called,” Maze grinned as she sidled up to the bar next to him. She still wore her hellion attire, that would need to change if she agreed to his terms. Considering how well she took to the rest of what Earth had to offer, Lucifer doubted Maze would have any trouble changing into something more-- current.

Lucifer coughed to clear his throat of the lingering burn from the low-quality swill the fight club stocked. He smiled at the demon, his only friend. “What would you say if I told you we’re staying?”

“Staying.” Mazikeen’s head tilted to the side, almost like a hound listening for prey shifting in the underbrush. “Like-- here, here?” She looked around, making short work of the interior before finding his eyes again. Her mouth pinched in a considering frown.

“Yes, in Los Angeles,” Lucifer confirmed, gesturing at the bar before returning his attention to the bottle in front of him to draw another few gulps of liquor into his system. “Amenadiel returned to the Silver City. He won’t bother us any longer.”

Her lips parted, and she flashed her teeth at him. “Then I don’t see why not. It could be fun.”

In an exhale that almost sounded like a laugh, Lucifer agreed. But there was still the matter of ensuring he couldn’t return to Hell. He needed to make the transition to the mortal plane final.

“There won’t be any going back,” he said rather severely. Again, he raised the scotch to his lips and drank deeply. Finally, he could feel the warmth settling into his stomach and his mind fuzzing. “I need your help, Maze.”

Already, a knife was in her hand. Always ready for violence, that one. Lucifer grinned right alongside her. With one more attempt, he finished the bottle and wiped his lips with the back of one hand as he pushed himself off the bar. A few wandering steps took him around to search through the cabinets for another. He settled on vodka this time, twisting the cap off with his thumb and leaving it behind as he draped one arm across Maze’s shoulders.

“Come with me,” he said, walking her toward the door. “We’re going to the beach.”

Her split eyebrow raised, though she did not fight him. “The beach? Sure. Need me to kill someone for you there?”

“Nothing like that, no,” Lucifer told her as they climbed the staircase to the exit. His steps lost some of their coordination as they reached the top level. “I just need you to cut my wings off.”

Mazikeen stopped dead in her tracks, letting him stumble past her.

“Hang on.” Her brows knit together as she stared him down. He knew that look. She disapproved. “You want me to what?”

With a shrug as casual as he could make it, Lucifer leaned against the railing overlooking the bar that would become his new domain. The drunken bravado facade helped his joke: “Not like I can do it myself.”

But the demon looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. Considering everything she’d seen in her long, long life, Lucifer would have thought it near impossible to shock her with mere words. “You meant it,” Maze said more to herself than to him. “If we do this, there is no going back, is there?”

“No.” His hand tightened on the metal, making it creak beneath his inhuman strength. Lucifer couldn’t look at her. Instead, his gaze fell to the floor where an empty beer can rest crumpled on its side. “I won’t go back there. I’m done being my Father’s puppet. And I’m doing this with or without you, Mazie.”

She watched him, looking from the tips of his shoes up the line of his Versace suit to his battered face almost like she was assessing what she saw. When she finally met his eyes, her soulless gaze finding his divine one, Lucifer knew Maze had come to a decision. 

“Let’s do this.”

\--

The drive to the beach was quiet save for the sound of wind buffeting against the car. Late as it was, few vehicles filled the roads which made it easy for Mazikeen to speed down the highway. As the breeze ruffled his hair, Lucifer couldn’t suppress nostalgic memories of flying. After all, it wasn’t something he would be able to do for much longer.

He drowned the thought with more vodka.

There was no place for sentimentality. Not when Lucifer’s freedom hinged on ridding himself of his wings. Without them, he could not return to Hell even if he wished to. The end of his punishment was long overdue. His rebellion was nothing more than his desire to be more than his Father’s pawn-- a piece to be moved around the board and discarded.

No, Amenadiel could see to the gates of Hell or one of the others. He scoffed against the mouth of the bottle before taking another drag. Perhaps Azrael could manage Hell now that he refused to return. She’d not visited once during his entire banishment. Maybe she would want to rule over the souls she cast down to him all these years.

As the smell of salt grew in the air, Lucifer knew they approached their destination. Mazikeen pulled the car into a vacant lot near the water and shut off the engine to leave behind only the sound of waves lapping the shore. Out here, the lights from the city were dimmer, and the sky opened up to an array of stars. To see them all, they would need to travel well outside city limits, but this would do.

Lucifer left the empty bottle behind as he rose. The sand was slippery beneath the flat soles of his shoes, and his steps were off-kilter as he wandered down the beach and away from the last of the streetlights. He neared the water’s edge before stopping to raise his gaze to the stars. They sparkled above him as they’d done for millennia while he was locked away.

Of all the cruelties in Hell, star blindness is what ate away at his soul.

A deep inhale steadied him as Mazikeen caught up. He turned his head to see her standing just a half-step behind him, and it made the smallest of smiles tug at his lips. He could always count on his Mazie. She looked nervous as she had since he’d told her of his plans, but her hands were steady, and that was all he needed.

Sliding his tongue along the back edge of his teeth, Lucifer steeled himself for the inevitable pain she was about to inflict. He looked out at the water, seeing the reflection of the stars before dropping to his knees in the sand. His wings sprang forth from the celestial plane and into existence before he settled on the ground.

Before God, he would rid himself of their weight.

Mazikeen shifted behind him. Her blade slicing through the air as she drew it from its hiding place. She did not dare to touch him or give comfort as the first strike tore through his flesh. A sick, wet noise sloshed through the silence, and Lucifer felt the liquor roil in his gut at the first wave of pain.

Not a sound left him as she worked through the scapular muscles and bones of his right wing. Instead, Lucifer bared his teeth and gritted them together. Soon, it would end. The weight fell away and left behind the wet slide of blood. His heart raced inside his chest, and his hands clenched into fists in the sand beneath him.

Despite the cruelty of the action, Mazikeen wasted no time before moving to the left. She was Hell’s most skilled torturer. She’d broken humans and demons alike for eons and would have known anticipation made the pain worse. If he could speak, Lucifer might’ve thanked her for her kindness.

When the second wing fell, so did he.

Lucifer barely managed to splay his arms out in front of himself before crashing to the beach with a gasp. His ribs constricted, making it hard to breathe as they grew used to their new reality. His bloodied suit stuck to him and dragged against the fresh wounds with each stilted inhale. As Lucifer flexed his fingers, the nerves began to learn there were no wings left to control.

Eventually, Maze lowered herself to the sand beside him. The knife was gone, whisked away into hiding, leaving her empty-handed. When Lucifer finally managed to turn his head, pushing through the pain radiating up his neck, he found damp tracks glistening on her cheeks. She cried for him for the last piece of his fall from grace.

A dark chuckle worked its way from his throat, cutting through the crisp springtime air. He leaned back on his haunches, dragging his shaking hands from the ground out to the sides as he appealed to the heavens.

“Happy now?” he roared.

Lucifer desired more. He wanted to scream for the entire world to hear. But the words, they failed him. They caught in his throat as the reality of amputating his wings hit his body. This time when he collapsed, Mazikeen caught him as his hands could not. He curled into her lap as the first spasm hit. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t-

\--

When Lucifer woke, he no longer lay beneath the stars on a sandy beach. 

He wasn’t even looking up. His face pressed into a musty pillow, and his bare chest rested on a scratchy sheet that smelled like it hadn’t been washed in an age. He groaned a pathetic little protest as he tried to open his eyes and failed. Exhaustion tugged at his heels, trying to drag him back into oblivion.

A muffled noise broke through his haze. A voice, he realized after a few moments. It sounded like he was underwater, the syllables garbled together but there was an inflection at the end as though the speaker asked a question.

Again, Lucifer attempted to open his eyes. They rose to half-mast and through the blurry mess his vision had become he recognized a familiar face level with his own.

“Ma-ze?” he tried to say, but her name came out as more of a croak than a word. Damn, if his throat didn’t hurt like he’d nothing to drink in weeks.

She replied in her native tongue, the words flowed over him without his comprehension. It wasn’t a language barrier, he could speak in every dialect, but something hindered his ability to hear. With great effort, he swallowed to try and clear his ears. 

“-hear me?” This time, the words were in English.

A sea of pain swimming across his vision stifled his nod. Maze’s face disappeared as Lucifer slammed his eyes shut against the world. “Hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” Maze scolded. He heard the creak of leather as she rose to stand over him; he assumed to look over the wounds. Today wasn’t the first time Maze played doctor to him. He hoped it would be the last but somehow doubted he would be so lucky. “I cut two limbs off,” she continued before mumbling something under her breath.

Considering Lucifer was ‘burned to a crisp’ --at least as Maze described it-- as he fell from heaven, he knew what fire felt like more than anyone. He’d descended in a great ball of flame, through the mortal plane and destroying the Earth’s ecosystem as he crashed beyond it into Hell. Right now, memories of those first days recovering strength enough to rise.

With a groan, he opened his eyes again. The room lost its blur as Lucifer blinked away the sleep from his eyes. A hotel room of some sort came into focus; the furnishings were dated, a stained floral bedspread lay the other bed, and a waste bin sat between them, filled to the brim with soiled bandages. He swallowed and tried to focus on Mazikeen instead. 

“Where-?” his brittle voice was barely over a whisper.

“Some shitty motel,” she answered without him needing to finish the question. “Only so many places will accept blood money.”

At his questioning gaze, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her tight leather pants-- those were new-- and pulled out a wad of bills stained with blood. Mazikeen waved them in front of his face as if to demonstrate. “And these were the cleaner ones left in your jacket.”

“Mhm.” Lucifer’s hum turned into a moan of pain as he attempted to rise. His hands shook. Maze merely forced him back down with the barest touch between his shoulder blades.

“Hang on.” She released him and stepped away, moving to the nightside table between the beds. “You shouldn’t move too much yet.” Lucifer’s compliance with her request was more mandatory than he’d of wished, but when she returned, it was with a cup of water. “I crushed up enough oxy to take down a horse. This should help.”

Maze helped him rise enough that the water didn’t spill everywhere as she gave it to him. It was bitter and chalky from the pills, but it went down all the same. He coughed a few times to clear his throat before Mazikeen resettled him on the blankets. Every movement pulled at the healing skin on his back. It still felt ravaged. 

“How long?” it was easier to speak now the dryness ebbed away.

He watched the tilt of the demon’s mouth twist as she settled on the floor next to him so he wouldn’t need to look up to see her. “Three days.” 

Without meaning to, he winced.

Mazikeen simply shrugged. “I stole everything we needed besides the room. It’s near impossible to occupy a motel for a week without anyone noticing, and we needed power and running water.” Her gaze drifted across his back before returning to his face. “It’s not like Hell.”

Humming, Lucifer let his eyes drift shut again. “We’ll make a home,” he mumbled, the effects of the powdered drugs sinking into his system quickly-- angelic metabolism, be damned. “Live in luxury. Anything you desire, Mazie.”

For a while, all was quiet, and he’d nearly drifted off before Maze spoke again. “Just don’t make me do that again,” she whispered.

Blindly, he let his hand fall off the side of the bed, and Lucifer fumbled until he found her knee. He squeezed it with the barest grip. It was all he could muster. “My wings are gone, Darling. They’re not coming back.”

Mazikeen’s hand felt warm on top of his own as she squeezed it in return.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story! I've really been enjoying falling into Lucifer even if I am late to the party. Words of encouragement are always appreciated, as is concrit.


End file.
